The gyant went a-boating
He took my princess fair
His iron chains upon her
His flowers in her hair.
She is my own sweet passion
But he has her now
He's leering from the poop-deck,
She's reading in the prow.
I see them on the water
My body shakes with rage
Against him I am helpless
His boat is now her cage.
Far away they drift, alas!
Leaving me behind.
Them on that boat together:
It roasts my shattered mind.
I flop upon the marshes,
As visions come to me
Though they are far out of sight
There's much that I can see.
I know she's on her hands and knees.
Her mouth is open wide;
Of gyants' food she will partake
He'll thrust it right inside!
He'll make her suck the bitter root,
Suck it dry and clean;
Then she'll eat the pulpy fruit
Than ne'er a man has seen.
Her lips and chin so sticky wet,
It drips upon her thighs:
The salty sap of gyants' fruit
And bitter root's surprise.
I cannot bear to think of it,
I cannot turn away-
He owns her out there on his boat
She is his willing prey.
Minutes turn to hours,
My hands sink in the mud.
Although I cannot really see,
My mind will chew the cud.
His magick staff of hearty oak,
It fills her now with bliss!
Ah! How can I, a mortal man,
Ever compete with this?
A fever of delerium
Now has captured me,
Pulpy chains of rooty bliss
Are all my mind can see!
